I Don’t Really Have a Story – My Story at Not Alone

Unlike many who have submitted, I was never really a believer. Not really, not in a religious sense. However, like Fox Mulder from X-Files, I wanted to believe. I wanted for the world to be more wondrous and mystical than the apparent, man-made mundanity I saw about me every day. I didn’t want there to be a god, but I most definitely wanted there to be a spiritual world, one where people were connected on a level beyond the physical and mental. I wanted for psychic phenomenon to be true, I ached for a world where, once the veil of apparent reality had been lifted, that what lay behind was an interconnected species of light and magic. And while I was in this phase, I believed it to be true.

Indoctrination was something I never really encountered. Born in Corvallis Oregon in 1972, into a lax Protestant family with an older brother, my parents half-heartedly sent us to Sunday School where parts of the bible were acted out by puppets. I thought that was cool, but any time I brought home a story from the “classes” and recalled them to my mum, would always pull a face. Not a face of delight or disgust, more a face of confusion, for I’m sure at the time that she knew this was all just fantasy. Both my parents came from science backgrounds, dad studied and was working as a fresh-water biologist, and mum was a physiotherapist, which makes my later realisations make much more sense. I never discussed the efficacy of Christian doctrines with her, but I now know how difficult that must have been for her, and dad. Both of their families did the usual praying at Christmas and Thanks Giving, and in fact, that was the only time I ever prayed myself, save for the occasional time when I wanted something, like a new bike for Christmas or a puppy.